Behind America
by Zeeva
Summary: Standing behind America are the regions that help him: N.E., Virginia, Indiana, Montana, and Arizona. True patriots, they defend their nation and everything they hold dear. But that doesn't mean that they help keep things running smoothly. Multiple pairings  homo&hetero     Currently rated T to be safe... could later be M
1. Chapter 1

**Yay Re-writes! So I'm back at a computer and have been working on some edits. Which included more research. Remember to review!**

**I do not own the Nations of Hetalia, just the OC's that reside with them.**

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><p>Chapter One: Raising a Nation<p>

"N.E!" A young six-year-old blond boy ran towards his older sister and guardian, "Look what I found!"

"I see, America," She giggled and kneeled do to be face to face, "You found a mud puddle!"

America looked down to his mud covered clothes and back up to N.E, "Look what I found in the puddle!" He opened his right hand to show his sister a piece of rock.

"That looks like a piece of granite," N.E. picked up her muddy little brother and placed him on her knee, "There is a lot of that around here."

"It's the granite state!" America said proudly, making his sister chuckle again.

"Alright, we'll call New Hampshire the 'Granite State." The smile those words put on her little brother's face completely distracted her from the red coated soldier coming to join them in the field behind N.E's home.

"Miss New England," the soldier called her attention, "I have a message for you."

N.E's smiled faded a bit as she stood, hugging America to her chest, and turned to face the soldier, "From Britain, I assume?"

"Yes, Miss," The soldier handed her a letter branded with her employer's wax seal.

N.E took the letter and let America slide down to the grass below, leaving a streak of mud down her dress. She examined the red wax imprint of a British flag, and opened the letter. As she read, America's small hands clung to her skirt waiting to hear what the letter said. Placing a hand upon his golden head of hair to keep him from jumping with anticipation, she finished reading and looked to the soldier. "He's coming to check in on us?" Her glance going between the soldier and the boy on her skirt, "He _would_ believe I couldn't handle this responsibility."

"When is he coming?" America looked up with a mix of excitement and confusion.

"He says he's leaving in the next few days, so he should be here in about a month."

"Ah, Miss," the soldier spoke, "I should ask you to look at the date. We had some trouble locating you. He had sent the letter to southern Massachusetts, and it took us some time to find you here in New Hampshire."

Blinking in awe of the soldiers' stupidity to not realize that she actually lived in New Hampshire, N.E. looked to the date in the right hand corner. "You've been looking for me for how long?"

"A- about a month, Miss," the soldier shied away in fear of getting hit by the girl as she scooped up the young nation and headed into the house.

"I can't believe how oblivious those men can be!" N.E was rummaging through America's dresser to find his church clothes, "I live here, I've lived here since we moved out of Plymouth, and because I happened to be in Massachusetts a month and a half ago, they go and make mistakes like this!"

"What's the matter, N.E?" America spoke up from his place on his bed watching his sister mutter as she dug through his clothes.

"That pain, Britain will be here any minute! I bet he told them to take this long delivering, giving me as little notice as possible," She pulled out America's nice dress clothes and turned to start stripping the muddy clothes off her brother's back and replace them with the new ones. "America, you remember everything from your lessons lately, right?"

America stared at her blankly, thought about what she had said, and then cautiously nodded.

N.E. was un-amused at her brother's thought process, "Go look over your work from the past couple of weeks," she ushered him off the bed and downstairs, "And do not get anything on those clothes!" She added as he made his way to his books. She fluffed the pale blond, ringlet curls that bounced about her neck, hanging from the ribbon tying them all together. Before she could look down at her gray and brown dress stained with the mud of America's outdoor play, the sound of horses caught her ear and she looked out the window over America's bed. "That bloody bastard," she said quiet enough for America not to hear her foul language, "His timing would only be this good if he planned it." She scooted off the bed and headed downstairs.

Britain didn't want to catch New England off guard; it was his boss, Queen Mary that suggested the plan for his check up on the "nation" watching over America. Ever since he had found the boy with France and Finland, and said nations tried to say that the young nation was their brother, King Henry VIII became very protective. When Queen Mary came to the thrown a year or so before, New England was a protester trying to keep the protestant faith while the Queen was trying to re-establish Catholicism. Wanting the young woman out of her country, she recruited her to raise the nation overseas while Britain was back home. Britain wasn't so sure about the idea.

New England was a girl with will, which he admittedly admired, but that will and a history of protesting in England would surely lead to trouble. Not to mention she surely did not like him. He winced when he caught a glimpse of her aggravated face in the window upstairs looking down at his carriage. With a sigh and accepting the attitude that was sure to come (and honestly, he couldn't blame her), he stepped out of the carriage, putting on his work face and making his way onto her front porch.

The front porch itself was an odd thing to Britain. Normally in the city, homes didn't have a front porch, a few steps at most. Yet here, New England had a large porch, holding a rocking chair, a couple of end tables, and other seats for any guests she may have. Britain spied a tea cup still on the table, empty. He presumed she had been busy taking after America. It had been some months, almost a year, since he had been back. Looking at spending a month with an irritated New England and hearing how she knows her "little brother" so well, the thought made him wince again. He knocked on the door and put on a stern face when she answered with her hand on America's shoulder.

"Good afternoon, New England," He greeted, "I presume you got my letter."

"Only recently," N.E. forced a smile. If not for America's young ears, her greeting of her "boss" would have been much more colorful.

"I glad to see at least America knows the proper dress for appearing before a traveling guest."

N.E. looked down, forgetting about her mud soaked clothes, "Yes I was doing some work outside and lost track of time," she felt a blood vessel twitch in her forehead, "Please, come in. America, go get some tea cups ready for Britain," she nudged the young boy toward the kitchen.

Britain swallowed before approaching her, feeling the freezing atmosphere about, "It's been a while, New England."

Glaring over her shoulder as Britain came up behind her, "Yes, it has. Thank you for the letter alerting me about your coming. It did me a lot of good getting it an hour before you would arrive."

"It's not my fault the soldiers here had trouble finding you," Britain lied, "But mud is still not the way to appear in front of a guest, not to mention an employer."

N.E. whipped around, her blond curls beating against Britain's nose. Poking a finger to his chest, trying not to yell and call attention from America, "You are not my employer, the Queen is, and she has enough respect to alert me with enough to not only get her new nation ready for an audience, but myself."

Britain lost face as he stared into her raging blue-gray eyes, and jabbed him into the door behind him, but composed himself enough to say, "Again, I am sorry for the issues with the mail. Perhaps you should consider a better way of telling our soldiers where you are." The red glow tinting her checks in frustration caught his eye, causing him to silently beg for her to back up from the position they found themselves in.

"N.E., Britain, I have the tea set ready," America called from the other room, "but N.E. won't let me use the stove to make it."

"I'll be right there, America," N.E. turned her head in the direction of the boy, giving Britain a chance to breathe while she wasn't looking. Turning back, he composed himself again as she ended their conversation with, "If you do anything in my house or with that boy that I don't like, you can believe I will have your head on the wall next to the moose I got last month." She walked away, leaving Britain just inside the doorway, trying to convince himself not to just run.

He would admit a few things: New England was a strong and willful girl. Adding in her hourglass figure made by her wide hips and voluptuous breasts, she made his heart stop when she had him against a wall like that. When her dusty blond curls bounced as she walked away to help America make tea, and her eyes burned through him as she proved how protective she was of the nation she came to love, he had to work even harder to just stand. He would admit that he liked New England, just never to her, or anyone one else.


	2. Chapter 2

**You know the drill: I do not own Hetalia, R&R.**

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><p>Chapter Two: Tending the Enemy<p>

Britain knew this day was coming. He knew when he first met New England that there would be trouble across the sea. If only he could have visited more, if only the king had not tried to take advantage of her, then maybe he wouldn't be holding his wounded arm and dragging his foot behind him as he came up to the quiet house with the big porch he had come to know over the last several years.

She protested religion. That was why she was sent here. Her following of Protestants that hadn't been burned at the stake, the Queen had wanted them out of her country, so her majesty came up with the plan to send New England and her followers to the New World. Britain knew it was a bad idea, so he tried to visit as much as he could, maybe win over New England and convince her that the Britain rule was what was best, but no. Royal upon Royal kept him busy across the ocean, and when he did come it was due to some assignment given to him that tended to just annoy New England more.

He hissed in pain as he made his way up the stairs to her door. She would be the one to stop this. America was protecting her and her followers, so her word would stop this madness. He banged on the door by swinging his arm. It didn't take long for New England to answer.

"Britain? What it the-"

"You have to stop him!"

"Stop who? Oh Lord, take a seat," N.E. pulled up and chair and gently forced him to sit. She cupped his face, looking him over gently, those blue-gray eyes scurrying across his wounded person.

He couldn't say it, not yet, not while he actually was a concern to her. The closest she ever got to worry when it came to him was when he was tackled by her dog, Barker, some years back. She had asked if he was all right, and helped him up. Seeing the look of concern over her face, feeling her gentle, calloused hands over his body checking wounds, he couldn't tell her that this was because of her "little brother."

"Britain, what happened?" She grabbed a bucket of water that sat off the steps of the porch, most likely rain water. She tore some of the ruffles from the bottom of her skirt to make a quick rag and start cleaning his wounds.

Watching as she sacrificed her blue dress to take care of him, he had to force himself to even think about why he was there. "America," he breathed out.

She stopped dabbing, "What?"

He knew he needed to tell her, he couldn't be nursed by her knowing that her pride and joy had done the damage. "America revolted. I-I came to visit. One my way I received news about some of our tea ships being attacked by men dressed as Indians. When I docked, a group of men attacked the ship. They were chanting about how they wanted freedom, that they wanted America."

N.E. blinked and rested her hands on Britain's arm as she thought about what he said. She knew America was in Boston, getting some more learning form Benjamin Franklin, and she had heard about the attacks on the ships, in fact she was the one that mentioned the idea to America, but here she was tending to Britain's wounds on her porch. She looked into his green eyes, calling out for help. His furrowed brow with his bushy eyebrows and his hair, an even wilder mess than usual, she continued to dress his wounds with the scraps of fabric from her skirt as she thought about what to do. He just looked so miserable, too miserable to just dismiss. "I-is that tar?"

Britain squinted and looked to see black splattered on his sleeve. "One of our men," he winced as his tried to straighten up, "They made me watch was they stripped, tarred, and feathered him. Some of it must have splashed on me."

Rolling up his sleeve to see the burn left by the hot tar smoldering through his clothes, N.E. knew that this was excessive. Tormenting men that are just following orders, it was uncalled for and unfair war play. She had taught America to have more respect than that.

Grazing her thumb over the swelling of Britain's cheek, she concluded that she was a patriot, she was proud of America, but she was going to have a stern word with him about his actions after she tended to his enemy. She saw too many of her followers burned because of their beliefs, and even if she disagreed with the enemy's beliefs, she never resorted to torture.

He focused on her concentrated look, the anger and disappointment as she tore off another piece of her skirt, revealing her white petticoat. "Why not just use bandages instead of tearing up your lovely dress?"

Surprised out of her thoughts, her cheeks went a little pink as she said, "You need to be tended to quickly," she went back to her work, "and I don't remember where I put my medical supplies. America hurts himself so often doing stupid things. I taught him how to tend to his own injuries, and I haven't seen any of my supplies since, shy of on a couple of wounded animals I find about on my land."

"I'll buy you a new one," he groaned as she put pressure on his leg, "A nice one, blue, from back home."

"I don't need a nice dress, Arthur," she surprised him with the use of his real name, "A nice dress with only get destroyed here. I do all of the work when America is gone, it'll get torn and stuck on things."

"Two dresses then, made for hard work on the farm," he urged, "I have to do something after you have done this for me."

She tied off the splint on his leg, let out a heavy sigh, and stood up. "You can make sure you and America come out of this alive," she started for the door and turned back with a solemn face, "and you can forgive me for what I am about to do."

Britain watched her walk away, trying to not fall out of the chair, confused as to what she meant.

When she came back, she had her shotgun and a grim expression. She pointed it toward the country she had served and tended to, "The American Revolution has begun, and I am a patriot. I will not persecute you like others did or will, but I will tell you to get off my land."

He didn't know how to respond except to listen and obey. Standing up from the chair he headed from where he came, turning back to see New England distressed in her rocking chair, her face in her hands. She was right, the war had begun, and she was torn between the two countries that she had come to depend on and care for. He would forgive her, he already had, and he was going to do his best to make sure he and America did come out alive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapta Tree! I don't own Hetalia, R&R!**

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><p>Chapter Three: The End of a Nation<p>

It was over, he knew it was. Looking at America at the other end of his rifle, all he had to do was shoot him and everything would be over. The rain was coming down harder and harder as Britain tried harder and harder to hold back the tears while he pointed his gun at the young nation he had seen grow. The one he had snuck toys and gifts behind New England's back. The one that was so excited to see him, but he rarely got to visit. His young nation was now fighting for his independence and all it would take to stop the madness was for him to pull the trigger.

The words New England had said to him when he went to her for help rang through his head, "Make sure you and America come out of this alive."

His hold weakened on his gun, "Fool," he muttered lowering his rifle, "Th-there's no point of firing, is there?" Britain dropped to his knees, in front of America, his men, and the rest of the enemy. "D-damn it… why?"

America stared down at the man he called big brother when N.E. couldn't hear, the man he looked up to and followed for so many years. "You used to be so big," he stated before turning to the man to his right, "It's over. Tell the troops to head back."

The man saluted and started to drive the patriots back, cheering with victory and leaving their nation as he spoke with the enemy alone. The Red Coats had retreated at the sight of their country's surrender. America stepped over to Britain, offering him his hand.

"It was inevitable," Britain spoke through weak tears.

Blinking in confusion, America wanted clarification "What was?"

"That New England would turn out a nation like you," He stood up, grunting pain as he put pressure on his leg that New England had tended to several years before.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'll never say it again, so listen closely," Britain brushed himself off, "The King wasn't happy when you declared your independence years ago, and he wasn't happy about that 'Destruction of the Tea' disaster that helped start all this mess," he surprised America by putting a hand on his shoulder, like he used to when he was younger, "and he'll hate me for admitting it, but she did an excellent job." America stared as he tried to understand what Britain was saying, "Things are not going to be smooth for a while, not that they have been, but someday you'll be a great country, and I'll be happy to call you an ally."

"Do you really mean that, Britain?" America was stunned. He knew that Britain was not going to be easy to live with for a long time after this, but in his vulnerability, he was being honest.

"I do, and you can thank New England for that. She's a great woman that knows what she's doing," Britain ruffled up America's hair, "She's proud of you too, Alfred."

"I hope so," America smiled, "I don't know what happened, but when she heard about a red coat getting tarred and feathered after we dumped that tea, she nearly killed me herself. She said she'd shoot me if she heard I was promoting anything like that."

A pink hue crossed Britain's cheeks as he rubbed his thumb over the discolored spot on his arm from getting splashed with tar. "She can be very aggressive when it comes to rights and fair play."

"Well, my men want to celebrate the end of this war, and I should be with them."

"Agreed," Britain looked behind realizing he didn't know where his men ran off to, "I should go take care of-"

"She's home," America interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"N.E.'s home. I'm sure she'll want to hear that we finished this. I haven't seen her in years, but we have been sending letters."

"Sadly, it does sound better being threatened by that girl than going back and being yelled at by the King."

"Tell her I say hello, and I'll be back soon," America waved as he started back to join his victorious troops.

"I will," Britain waved good-bye, he knew America was right, and they both knew that if what he had said got around, honest opinion or not, it wouldn't end well, so he trusted that his words would remain out of any history books. He sighed, looking up to the crying sky, and headed north.

Some days later, he limped his leg back up the stairs of New England's porch, with the help of a cane and a large box in hand. He knocked on her door, waiting for a response. He looked about, still no sign of her, and knocked again. Knowing he had not told her he would be coming and that he was not her favorite person, he sat down and sighed. Chances were high she wasn't home, and who knew when she would be.

When he pushed himself up from the chair, leaving the box on the table by the door, he heard something fall and turned to see blond ringlet curls blowing in the New Hampshire Autumn breeze. Not sure how to handle seeing the woman he last saw through the barrel of a gun, he subtly waved with a small, cautious smile.

It took only that wave for her to come running from the yard and onto the porch to throw her arms around him. After years of not seeing her and being surrounded by men in red coats, just the simple embrace was enough for him to forget about his painful leg and hold her tightly.

"What in the world are you doing here?" N.E. pulled away and looked up into his green eyes, "I thought America won, shouldn't you be on your way home, or dead?"

"I told you I would make sure we both came out alive," his quote made her cheeks flash red, "and I also promised you this," he used his cane to point toward the box, but her eyes lingered on the hickory walking stick in his hand.

"It never healed correctly," she said in a regretful tone.

Confused, Britain looked at the cane and explained, "No, no, it did. This happened a couple of years ago, the Battle of Germantown. We won, but I caught a bullet. It'll heal, a few more years, it just hurts a little. I mostly use the cane because I actually think it looks rather dashing, don't you?"

Failing to be impressed by his response, N.E. told him to sit, pulling up one of her chairs. "You are certainly a piece of work, Britain," she commented as she helped him sit, "I'll go get some tea."

"New England," he stopped her, "Is that egg all over your apron?"

N.E. looked down to see that the eggs she dropped in disbelief had broken, splattering the bottom of her dress and apron. "Yes it is," she admitted and looked up to him, "I couldn't believe that you were here of all places."

"So I now owe you a dozen chicken eggs," He smiled and gestured back to the box, "eventually I'll come here and not have to replace something."

N.E. looked back to the box and sighed, "Arthur, I told you I didn't need a dress from you. And that was years ago, how did you even remember that?"

Happy to hear her say his real name again, Britain explained, "A gentleman always remembers his promises, Victoria."

She smiled and opened the box, trying to hide the color on her face. The dress was blue, just as he said, and made of strong, expensive fabric that would last years on the farm. "You really are a man of your word," she shook her head with a smile, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

A look of realization came over her face and she turned to Britain, "You know that this may be the last time we see each other."

"Eventually relations will calm down-"

"No," N.E. stopped him, "I- I'm no longer a nation."

"What do you mean?" Nations lived as long as their names or until another nation killed them, she had already lived over a hundred years not aging over 21.

"The states are now 'the United States of America.' I'm no longer a nation."

Britain was dumbstruck at the realization that now she would continue her life and eventually die of old age or something of that sort. Now determined, Britain stood up and said, "If this is the last time I ever get to see you, may I ask a request?"

"I don't see why not."

"May I kiss you?"

Her face turning red, she nodded in slight shock that he would ask. It had been decades since they had anything close to a romantic encounter. After their many fights and arguments, she had never seen their relationship as more than hesitant friends, shy of one time on a ship they promised to never speak of. It certainly wasn't common knowledge that she fancied him, and no one would believe so the way she treated him, but she surely wasn't going to say no to a kiss from him.

Britain wasn't the most attractive man, not with those ghastly bushy eyebrows, but those green eyes, his slim and fit stature, his height over her, and his gentleman ways, she had fallen for him centuries ago. He always tried to secretly sneak toys and treats to America, thinking she never knew, but the sight always made her smile. He wasn't one of the royal dogs, like other Englishmen she knew, he was respectable and kind. It was her protectiveness of America and her determination to not go back that kept her from saying such things.

Cupping her cheek, grazing his thumb over her red tinted skin, he pulled her lips to his and pulled her body closer using his cane. Her hands resting on his chest and shoulder, she would have kissed him forever if not for the calling of a British soldier. They broke their kiss, staring into each other's eyes until the soldier was close enough to see what might be happening between them.

N.E. slipped inside as the soldier approached, handing a letter carrying the King's seal. She knew it was his Highness calling for his country to leave America and come home. She also knew that with that soldier outside, she couldn't say good-bye the way she wanted to. Tapping on the window to subtly get his attention, Britain turned and waved good-bye, knowing that the next time he stood on that porch, she would most likely be in a cemetery nearby.

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><p><strong>So... if you wanna know what happened on that ship... R&amp;R and I'll post it up as a little extra (note: that will jump this story from T to M)<strong>


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